The Oligarchy
by PrestigiousP
Summary: I could tell you all the good guys win in the end, that karma is real and the universe has a funny way of repaying its debts, but I would be lying. Instead, I will represent the events of my life that led up to this point as cleanly and clearly as I remember them. My story is the simple recollection of how I tried, and quite possibly failed, to give Kalos back to its people.
1. prologue: don't go gentle

**prologue: don't go gentle**

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><p>Looking back on that night, I imagine Route 5 was silent. Obviously not literally silent, I mean the guy was shot nineteen times after all. But unnaturally silent. I imagine the native pokémon didn't make a sound for him. I imagine nature itself stopped completely. As if it were expressing its shame for its government, I imagine the wind stopped in its tracks, the rivers stilled with apprehension, the trees firmly solid. I imagine when the swarm of government officials all raised their guns at the same time and began to fire, and he chucked that forsaken poké ball with all his might into my life, nature lamented him with silence.<p>

I know better now. I've learned first-hand since then the world doesn't stop for tragedy, only people do. In actuality, when those bullets penetrated that man and he hit the ground, the wind continued to blow, the trees continued to dance, the river continued to ripple, and the pokémon continued to live in blissful ignorance of the wrong done in their home.

My late mother was an avid poet, well, before the government began to regulate poetry and all artistic media for "harmful propaganda." A framed illegal copy of "Do not go gentle into that good night" still hangs in the living room of my house. She got it before Kalos went to shit. It was her favorite. As a kid I always just thought it was about a dude begging his dad not to die, but my mother always said she thought it was about not giving up without a fight, even if the cause seems futile. Often I think about that poem and its message and what might've happened if my mother had considered it in her final days. She and my father might still be alive.

My mother's interpretation of that poem still sticks with me today. In the beginning, I was only concerned about staying alive, but along the way I realized that too many people died for their gentility, for nothing. Because they didn't fight they were now six feet under. At some point, that didn't sit well with me. Along the way I realized that being bitter about the way my life turned out wasn't helping anyone. Along the way I resolved that I would make a difference or die trying.

My mother always said there are two sides to every story, and I could present mine to you with some nobility. I could tell you all the good guys win in the end, that karma is real and the universe has a funny way of repaying its debts, but I would be lying, and I've been exposed to too much revisionist history in my lifetime for me to be okay with that. Instead, I will represent the events of my life that led up to this point as cleanly and clearly as I remember them. My story isn't noble or glamorous, and I'm no heroine. I'm oppressed, and my story is the simple recollection of how I tried, and quite possibly failed, to give Kalos back to its people.


	2. chapter one: struck by lightning

**chapter one: struck by lightning**

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><p>I remember learning something in science class as a little kid, something that stuck with me. One in twelve-thousand people are struck directly by lightning in their lifetime. I thought about it a lot that night. One minute you're living your life, rolling up your car windows, getting the mail, waving goodbye to a loved one.<p>

_Crack!_

A split-second later you're on the ground. Three-hundred-million volts of electricity just surged through your body. Are you okay? Can you speak? Do you even remember who you are? I imagined getting struck by lightning was a life-changing event. Of course it is potentially life-ending, but what about the times in which survival follows? Is it for the better? How does one cope?

I entertained these thoughts in the back of my mind on the night I was struck by lightning. I sat on the edge of the Camphrier flax fields along Versant Road close to the eastern town arch, staring absentmindedly into the full moon. I rested my chin on my knees, arms wrapped around my legs as that one gentle beam of light illuminated the expansive darkness, shamelessly exposing the night and its vices.

I could say I went there to be dramatic, to brood and contemplate and feel bad for myself, but to avoid negative connotations, and because I know my feelings are entirely justified, I won't describe it that way. I went there and sat in the glaring moonlight – as I often did – plainly and simply to be alone. Because the trees look like shadows, and I like watching the breeze make them dance. Because the wind-wrought smell of the flax comforts me. Because in living under an oppressive government, alone time is valuable.

I learned later the moment I snapped out of my trance was the moment that fateful barrage of bullets sent that man to the ground. Less than a second is all it takes to be struck by lightning. In less than a second, a man died by gunfire. In less than a second, my entire serenity was broken and disregarded because I felt threatened by the systematic _crack_ of a death sentence occurring not a mile from where I sat.

In less than a second, I was up and running.

When you're scared and alone among a throng of trees at an undisclosed time of night, everything is particularly blurry. Suddenly, the gracefully-moving treeline isn't charming anymore. Instead it's a painful reminder of how lost and panicked and alone you are when there's a crazed gunman – or as I learned later, gunmen – on the loose.

With each snap of a twig under my foot, I felt my desperation climb to greater heights. The air around me suddenly became an all-too-precious resource that I felt I could never get enough of. The blurry images I passed seemed as if they were now spinning and blending together. Fear became a driving reason I was losing control.

In a split second, I was on the ground. I tripped. I don't remember over what because the next thing I saw zapped my mind of everything I ever knew. Was I okay? Could I talk? What was my name? Couldn't remember. Quite possibly the last Ampharos in existence was currently staring at me from behind a red plastic barrier.

Firstly, I need to mention that I never knew pre-regime schooling offered equal balance to those deemed "core" subjects until after I became one of Kalos' most-wanted that night. I never payed much attention in school because I did not like neither science nor history and those were the two most important subjects as deemed by the oligarchy when I was a kid. But I do remember having a specific interest in mega evolution when we learned about it in both those classes. I had every cataloged Kalosian mega pokémon memorized. Secretly, I imagined owning one.

I never expressed much interest in becoming a trainer, mostly because I knew it was dangerous, but something about having that one special pokémon and that one special stone tantalized me. I always knew it was nothing but a perverse fantasy, but until the oligarchy could learn to read my mind, it was a perverse fantasy that I indulged often.

In actuality, we were fed facts about pokémon and their mega evolutions in school in hopes that it would deter us from their majesty at a young age. They drilled it into our heads that these pokémon were unstoppable forces, very dangerous and violent. This knowledge was essential. It is the duty of a Kalosian citizen to report any pokémon with the potential for mega evolution so it can be captured or euthanized. Similarly, it is the duty of a Kalosian citizen to report any person or persons unlawfully owning or harboring a pokémon with the potential for mega evolution.

As I grew older, my childhood fantasy faded, not because of the ever-prescient threat of the government or because I was afraid of these pokémon. But when I grew up I realized how selfish my fantasy was. Mega evolution was a big deal, and it cost a lot of pokémon and people their lives. It felt wrong for me to want one just as an accessory, just for me to say "hey, I'm Moira and this is my super-special-totally-unique-one-of-a-kind-mega pokémon."

Also, it would be kind of hard for me to accessorize it anyway if the minute I pulled it out to show someone, they immediately responded by shooting me nineteen times.

That, however, wasn't the moral dilemma I faced when I saw Ampharos' poké ball lying on the ground. In fact, I didn't give the results of my education – or anything else for that matter – a second thought. What I did think about was the fact that there was a poké ball lying in front of me with a pokémon inside that had potential to mega evolve, and it was therefore my civic and moral duty to report it. I may have been a little naive at this point in time, but I knew what would happen to Ampharos if I turned it in.

I slowly pushed myself off the ground with my hands as Ampharos steadily held my gaze from its plastic prison. We both sat there in cold silence just staring at each other, waiting for what I was about to do, the decision I was going to make.

The thing that still makes me sick to this day is that I contemplated reporting it. I was going to turn around and walk back to Camphrier and tell the local stasis officer where and how exactly I stumbled upon this very feral and aggressive man-eating monster.

But then I remembered no one knew I was out there, and no one would know if I just got up and walked away. Hell, I could even convince myself I never saw it if I tried hard enough. Somebody one day would stumble upon it, and like a curse it would suddenly be their burden instead of mine.

I was originally content with this plan, but the moonlight that provided me comfort not ten minutes earlier betrayed me that night. As I pushed myself up off the cold ground and began to walk away, I faintly saw that glimmer of hope in Ampharos' eyes disappear, the glimmer of hope that resulted from the possibility I would consider picking it up and taking it with me, and it broke my heart.

So I stopped in mid-stride. Closing my eyes, I turned back around and picked up the cool red-and-white plastic capsule, shoving it deep into the pocket of my hoodie, and in that moment, I sealed my fate. Because even just picking up its poké ball is a capital crime in post-regime Kalos.

In that moment, my life changed forever.


	3. chapter two: water of the womb

**chapter two: sympathetics**

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><p>My mother, in all her subtle rebelliousness, taught me quietly through my teenage years about the basics of literature and poetry. She held on dearly to the old days when people were allowed to express any kind of emotion besides overall contentment, back when culture was still considered important. I learned a lot from what she taught me, things I wasn't ever taught in school. Literature wasn't a subject when I was coming up.<p>

In particular, my mother taught me a lot in the way of thematic elements of a novel. She essentially said each novel or work has a message, and its message varies depending on the reader. More importantly, she reassured that no one interpretation was right or wrong, that my views on one theme could vary greatly from another reader's.

Of course, the only readers I knew were my mother and me. I couldn't very well compare thoughts with any of my friends for fear of being lynched.

Anyway, it was through this learning that I realized these skills can be applied to everyday life. And I don't mean when you start getting really good at analyzing literature and then begin to analyze everything you pass on the street – although that did happen to me too – but particularly the part where just because you base feelings and thoughts on the evidence you gathered, it doesn't mean they're the only ones that should be considered. Altogether, if I took anything away from what my mother taught, it was the ability to be a more sympathetic person.

Which I'm guessing is one of the reasons why the oligarchy took literature out of school curriculum.

The point is, when my sister betrayed me later that night, my feelings weren't too hard on her. She had valid reasons for doing so, and I can't blame her for wanting to follow the law. Also, it's possible I cut her a lot of slack because Ampharos almost killed her, and afterwards I only ever saw her on TV.

When I was on Versant lost in the woods, I realized I was never going to be able to smuggle a mega pokémon into Camphrier if I didn't calm down. So when I finally felt my heart rate return to a normal pace, I gathered my bearings and found my path back home.

I think I at least played it off nicely on the outside. On the inside, it felt like something was beginning to corrode away at me and reveal my feelings, like a fuse had just been lit and was creeping its way up to my volatile emotions. Maybe I felt my life hanging in the balance of the decision I made, dangling there between the scale that held my moral and immoral choices.

In the moment, however, the only thought running through my head was that I just committed a capital crime. It's funny, when you commit a capital crime, it tends to be all you think about for a while. It can be dangerous when you're trying to get away with it.

It was dangerous, in particular, when I walked to the town arch and saw swarms of government officials patrolling the nearby streets. I stiffened apprehensively. Were they investigating the gunshots? Did they notice me? I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I wasn't paying attention to anything.

It was even more dangerous when the realization hit me in the middle of the street. They weren't here investigating the gunshots. They were, in fact, the source of the gunshots. They were here looking for Ampharos.

Putting my hood up, I snuck quickly and quietly to my house close to the stone wall. Gently twisting the brass doorknob, I pushed my way inside. My sister was standing in the dark of the kitchen, staring out the window. She spun around when she heard the door close.

"Where have you been?" she said in a strained whisper, as if scared the people outside would hear her. Her eyes were contorted into an expression I'd never seen from her before. It was normal for her to be relatively uptight, but in that moment I saw pure, unadulterated fear on her face.

"What's going on?" I asked, ignoring her question. I lowered my hood to get a better picture of her. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror. We met eye-to-eye. Her chestnut brown hair fell in an uncannily similar way as mine. We could have passed as twins.

Luckily enough, we weren't. The only reason I wasn't given to foster care was because she was eighteen at the time of my parents' death. She took legal guardianship over me so that we could stay together. She worked harder than anyone I've ever met in my life, with little to show for it, especially now.

"They say there's a mega pokémon on the loose," she said, slightly panicked but confirming my suspicions as to the presence of the government officials. Her downfall, much like my dad's, was that she believed in the regime too much. It wasn't really that either of them supported what was happening in Kalos, but more like they feared authority and just aimed to please. I should have considered that before I pulled out Ampharos' poké ball and showed her.

I don't know what I was thinking. I probably wasn't. I was probably still stuck on the fact I had Ampharos in my hand. I definitely could have handled that situation better.

Ampharos was just scarcely visible through the poké ball, but she could make him out in the moonlight, just like I did in the woods. Her reaction was much like mine at the time, but I imagine different thoughts were stirring through her head, like why did her sister decide to be one of the worst kinds of criminal all of a sudden?

I opened my mouth to explain, but I was just as speechless. She was now in on my deepest, darkest secret. She had become an accessory to my crime. In reality, I expected her to take care of it. I expected her to do something to save us. She always did. She was the grown up. She took care of me.

She did do something, just not what I expected.

In the next moment, she was making her way out the door to the throng of armed murderers patrolling the streets.

"Marian!" I yelled quietly. I followed her outside in an attempt to grab her, but I only made it as far as the top of the steps. She had already caught the attention of a government soldier. They conversed briefly in the middle of the street, and all I could do was rigidly stand there in fear and silence.

To this day, I don't know what she said to them. My most educated guess is she was trying to bargain for my life, to explain that I didn't know what I was doing, I was just a stupid eighteen-year-old, or maybe she sold me out to save her own hide. If the roles were switched, and she was the one protecting a living weapon, I may have considered selling her out for myself.

I don't like to think about it. Out of all the things I've seen, watching her betray me might have been one of the most disturbing. I know I may seem confident and resolute now, but growing up in the regime was scary. The government got people so paranoid that it wasn't impossible for them to consider or do things they would be opposed to doing under normal circumstances.

I saw a glimmer of regret in her eyes the minute she finished her conversation with the soldier and he alerted everyone in the immediate vicinity to my presence. I got a little woozy when all of a sudden I was staring into the barrels of twenty-or-so assault rifles.

"Set the poké ball on the ground and put your hands in the air, now!" he yelled as he shoved my sister onto her knees and pointed the gun at her head. She began to cry.

I didn't actually intend to directly defy what he was telling me to do. Inadvertently, fear and uncertainty made me go blank again. I still had my hand firmly clutched around the poké ball as I lifted my arms into the air. I don't know what happened next, if my finger slipped and I hit the button, or if Ampharos came out of his own free will, but in a flash, the large electric-type stood at the foot of the steps. A few soldiers turned their aim from me to him.

I ducked quickly into my doorway as I saw the yellow fur on his body dance with electricity, illuminating the dark area around us. He let out a roar as the sparks jumped from his body and electrocuted everyone in the immediate vicinity. Twenty-or-so people hit the ground, including my sister.

I stepped back outside in shock as I saw silhouettes of the motionless bodies lying there lifelessly on the grass and asphalt. I felt my legs buckle under me, and I had to steady myself against the railing of the stairs. Ampharos looked back at me, waiting for me to do something.

"It came from over there!" someone shouted in the distance.

I was hyperventilating again, but I managed to straighten up.

"Gree!" Ampharos cried in urgency. I snapped back to reality and began to run.


End file.
